


Stratus

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, Injury, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 07:36:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10566639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: His lord’s injuries ruin Lindir, but Elrond sees the silver lining.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lindirisms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindirisms/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for lindeaewen’s “Fic bingo: injury for Elrond/Lindir (maybe post battle, Elrond is injured and Lindir is panicking?)” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/). ([Le bingo.](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/158937866370/fic-bingo))
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He walks most of the way himself, only stumbling once, but Lindir hurries to catch him, ducking beneath his arm and holding him firm. It’s somewhat difficult, not because Elrond’s particularly heavy, but simply because Lindir’s never had much physical strength. Sheer will gets him through. He supports his lord until Elrond can breathe evenly again and totter back to his feet. Then they continue at a slower pace down the long corridor.

At the end of it, Lindir pushes the door open, and Elrond steps inside his own quarters, letting out a clear sigh of relief. His shoulders droop instantly, the sturdy air of his reign evaporating. As Lindir shuts the door, a subtle spark of delight courses through him—he’s honoured to have become so close to Elrond that all those walls can fall away in his presence. He keeps pace as Elrond strolls towards the bed before all but collapsing onto it. 

When Elrond leans forward, his robes part enough to see the bandages wrapped thickly around his chest. He’s dressed looser than usual to accommodate his injuries. His sword hand is bound around the middle, his cheek bruised. Every time Lindir sees either place, he winces, and the familiar wave of panic returns. He was a wreck while Elrond was off in battle.

He was worse when Elrond came home, half falling off Glorfindel’s horse, needing to be carried to his bed. All the healers saw to him, but none are as talented as Elrond himself. Lindir still feels frantic for it. He knows he’ll be in ruins until Elrond is fully well again.

He kneels at Elrond’s feet to remove each boot in turn, and Elrond murmurs, “I wish you would relax again, my songbird. You look more tense than my soldiers.”

Usually, Lindir would smile at the petname and the use of the possessive, but when the first boot is gone, he can see the bandages around Elrond’s ankle, and it only raises his fear again. He still doesn’t understand why Elrond, a noble lord, should have to ride forth with mere hunters. He has to resist the urge to place a kiss over the bruise and murmur a prayer.

He moves to the next boot, and Elrond suggests, “Perhaps you must look at the positives of this instead.”

At that, Lindir looks up, sure he looks as pained as he feels. He returns sullenly, “There _is_ no positive to my lord’s injuries.” Elrond isn’t normally one to jest, and this seems a poor place to start.

He pulls loose the second boot and gingerly straightens the hem of Elrond’s robe. He wishes he could do _more_ , but his own skills in healing don’t extend beyond simple salves. He rises again to move towards the headboard, peeling back the covers so that he might help Elrond inside. Next he turns to fetch nightwear from the wardrobe, but Elrond’s uncovered hand darts out to clasp his wrist.

He stops, turning sharply, and Elrond tugs him that step closer, so that his knees hit the bed, and he’s looking down at the distressing sliver of a cut just beneath Elrond’s hairline. 

“Now you have a good excuse,” Elrond begins, “to attend to me at every moment.”

Lindir’s lips part in surprise, eyes widening around the edges. Elrond’s thumb soothes gently across his racing pulse.

“You have reason to come to my quarters late at night and to help me into bed...” Elrond pauses, gaze and fingers trailing down to Lindir’s palm. Lindir’s frozen still, somewhere between all the colour draining from his face and rushing to his cheeks. When Elrond catches his eyes again, he thinks he’ll sink right through the floor. “You must help me, my Lindir. I will need you to change my bandages and appease my aches, to rub the salves across my body. You will need to help me into the bath and to bathe me.” Lindir’s breath is caught. He might be trembling, ever so slightly. Elrond tugs him closer still, so that he’s standing right between Elrond’s spread knees, indenting Elrond’s robes, and Elrond purrs to him, “And you must help me dress... and undress.”

Lindir swallows once. It doesn’t help his drying throat. There’s a long moment where the room is eerily silent, and then Elrond raises both brows, obviously waiting on response. Lindir mumbles in a bumbling terror, “Am I so transparent?”

Elrond smiles. It’s a small, soft thing, but genuine, and it melts Lindir completely. He’s hot where Elrond’s touching him. Elrond murmurs, “I would not normally consider my body a selling feature, but at this point, I would do just about anything to calm my poor assistant.”

In the overwhelming moment, Lindir doesn’t know how to process that. It takes several ticking minutes until he can whisper, “I... I feel guilty, my lord. You must know how beautiful you are to me. ...But I would never take advantage. I could not take pleasure in it while you are hurting so...”

“I hurt little,” Elrond counters, “especially in those times where you are beside me. You have done more to soothe me than you could ever know.” Lindir can’t help smiling at that. His heart hurts, and he has to avert his eyes, because seeing Elrond now is almost too much to bear. He feels all the guiltier. Elrond gives his hand a little squeeze and asks quietly, “Would you like to stay through the night? Your keen sense of propriety should allow for this, for you to be there if I should have need of anything.”

Lindir always thought Elrond at least as proper as him—and surely Elrond can see that a servant would be dreadfully inappropriate to long for a lord. He can’t bring himself to be displeased by the knowledge that Elrond isn’t _that_ proper after all. He wars with his own shame—he _knows_ he’s utterly unworthy. But he also couldn’t stand the thought of Elrond tossing and turning at night for need of medical attention or simple company. 

Through the thickest blush he’s ever worn, Lindir mumbles, “Yes, please.”

Elrond’s smile grows, just as warm and meaningful. 

Lindir mutters quickly, “Oh, but I must fetch your night robes—” And he turns to go, only to have Elrond jerk him back again, around and down—he’s pulled practically into Elrond’s lap, and suddenly, Elrond is pressing against his lips, and Lindir gasps into their first kiss.

Thrilling and wild, that kiss is only chaste, quick, but the heat of it makes Lindir tremble, and all the world seems to narrow down to only _Elrond_. Afterwards, only a few centimeters from Lindir’s mouth, Elrond whispers, “This has been the positive for me—spending more time with you, enough to notice your affections. I feel a fool for not seeing them before. Though I am grateful my wounds brought me this, I hope they will heal swiftly, so that I may return all your favours properly.”

Lindir lifts both hands to carefully cradle Elrond’s face, and he promptly forgets the night robes in favour of kissing his lord.


End file.
